Heroes Drabbles
by sparkley-tangerine
Summary: Drabbles involing my fave Heroes couples and characters, mostly will be MattMo, Mylar and PeterMo. Everything can be expected.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Mohinder knows it's fake.

Disclaimer: Heroes belongs ot NBC and Ti Kring, not me. -tear-

Real

Mohinder is almost positive there's a name for it, the act of falling in love with your father's killer. A mental illness even. It's probably rare and hard to diagnosis- who really wants to admit to anyone, even them self that they are in love with a murderer?

The thought though, it's a relief. Simply because it's a reason or an excuse is the real question but Mohinder finds he doesn't really care as long as the end result is the same. They're together.

But….

Sylar doesn't love him.

Mohinder is sure of that- to feel love one has to be able to feel the softer sides of emotions, like forgiveness,_ guilt_, regret and _remorse_. Sylar is fury, possession and pain wrapped up in a pretty package of fear. Dark and mysterious and deadly, the rapid beating of his heart isn't excitement- it's fear and that's how he knows.

And….

Mohinder _knows_ it's _**fake**_.

Sylar stole the power of an illusion maker not so long ago. He likes to think that maybe the man did it, just for him _just to keep him_, but Sylar's thirst for more power tells otherwise.

Yet he keeps Mohinder in a fantasy world where Zane is real, his father is alive and the world has been saved. It stops the guilt and the pain from being too much- if the fantasy can be seen as real then maybe, in some way or another, it is okay. _This is okay._

And maybe, even though _it isn't real_, Mohinder can pretend that it's _enough_.

* * *

A/N: -gaps- Okay WTF? That's it, no more chocolate in the mornings. I end up with some verbal spewage of Mylar that is oddly…..theme-centric. An angst-y drabble? Me?! No way!

Man, I know someone's responsible for this! I just know it. –dashes off to find someone to blame-


	2. Hurt

A/N: This one has no pairings but it is a drabble. It came to me while watching some of those painful Nathan/Claire moments on YouTube. Combined with my own little theory that Noah was forced to shoot Nathan by the Company and here you go.

* * *

Summary: He couldn't hurt her anymore.

Hurt

The lights were all out when he finally returned to their home in California. Sandra knew not to wait up for him and the news might not have even reached this far yet. He hoped not.

The front door swung open silently and shut with a click as Noah put his keys in the dish by the door. He paused for a moment to rub the weariness out of his face, walking blindly into the living room.

"Did you do it?"

The sudden question, out of nowhere, had him reaching for his gun before his mind kicked in and he recognized that voice.

"Claire…."

She was sitting in the dark living room, her head and shoulders outlined by the stark light of the moon. No greeting, no welcome back hug, just cold fury.

"Did you do it?"

A cold stone of dread rolled around in Noah's stomach at those words. Somehow, even though none of the cameras had gotten a look at him, _he_ _knew she knew_.

"I don't know wha-"

She surged forward, flicking on the lights as she stood and glared at him.

"Don't you dare lie to me!" Her voice was quiet but shrill as she spoke. "I know you were there! Now tell me, did you shoot Nathan Petrelli?"

Instead of answering, the newly reinstated Company man tried to side-step. "Why would you think I had anything to do with what happened down in Odessa?"

Claire closed her eyes as Noah realized he had misspoken. A tear ran down her cheek, startling him before she answered. "Maybe because you know what happened already. Maybe because we both know he was going to do the exact same thing you warned me not to. Or maybe I just _know you_."

He couldn't avoid it any longer. "Claire, I had to. It was Company orders-"

"I'm leaving."

His heart stopped. She was going to go to Odessa with Peter Petrelli and Nathan and Parkman and leave them. A sudden fury overtook him at the thought.

"Don't you understand? I will do anything to protect you! To make sure you're never hurt-" Noah's voice rose in disbelief and anger.

"But you're the one who's hurt me!" Claire screamed at him, her cheek shiny with tears. "You're the one who's hurt me like I've never been hurt before. Bullets, knives, exploding men and speeding cars can't hurt me the way you have. It's in here," she folded her hands in front of her chest like a prayer. "Where I can't just _heal_ and sorry doesn't make everything alright."

"Claire….." He began, reaching out to touch her arm.

She jerked away from his touch violently. "It's not alright anymore, _Noah_." The word was like a slap to the face. She shook her head, unknowingly looking exactly the way Peter had pictured her in his reoccurring nightmare of becoming the exploding man. "The things you've done, claiming it was for _my_ protection……no. I don't want any part of it. Or you."

Noah Bennett felt…..powerless for the first time in his life as he watched his daughter pick up her already-packed duffle bag and walk out on her family.

On him.

He couldn't hurt her anymore.


	3. Standing Still

A/N: I was watching a YouTube video that showed the talk between Mohinder and Peter on the subway ride and was surprised at the number of times Sendhil licked his lips in that 'yummmmy- I like what I see' way. Then this popped into my head.

* * *

Standing Still

Summary: _On the way to meet Isaac, Peter tries to ignore how damn hot Mohinder Suresh is. So far, it isn't working._ Peter/Mohinder

When Peter Petrelli had knocked on the door of that grubby little apartment he had been expecting the ugly mug of the wrinkled old man on the back of _Activating Evolution_ to peer out at him.

He sure as hell hadn't been expecting the Middle Eastern version of a Kevin Cline underwear model to open the door and send his world spinning on a definitely skew-y right angle.

The other person in the room- a rather attractive young woman- held no interest to him anymore. Peter's eyes tracked Doctor Mohinder Suresh as if they were opposing magnets- truly though, the rest of the world seemed dull and dreary compared to the vibrant fine specimen that was standing before him.

His brain was a muddled puddle of gooey lust-lava, which was probably why he was coming off as a crack head to the gorgeous doctor. His mind could barely form anything coherent, other than the phrase 'wall, fuck, now!' Trying to explain his somewhat mysterious ability was obviously beyond his mental grasp at the moment.

The irritation that crept into the doctor's face only highlighted his best features- his dark, smoky eyes, his straight, regal nose and most of all his full, completely kissable lips.

God, that wall was just…..standing there, waiting for them to-

With most of his mind in the gutter, Peter was unimaginably grateful some part of his brain remembered Mendez and mentioned it. If he needed proof to get this man to follow him somewhere secluded well, Peter was a Petrelli- certainly not above using others to get what he wanted.

Something interesting happened while he studied the dark skinned man, and before he knew it, Mohinder was donning his coat and boots and joining him- just him- on a trip across Manhattan.

The subway was a crowded mess of people, jostling them into each other. The doctor quickly chose the nearest cart, dragging Peter behind him by their joined hands.

All that kept running through Peter's mind was 'sexy….fuck…wall…now.' in a continuous loop.

Automatically, Mohinder edged closer to him, talking in hushed tones. Body heat washed over Peter, scented with the other man's subtle cologne and something spicy. The subway train jumped and swayed, knocking their shoulders and hips together in ways that made Peter feverantly praise himself for wearing his rain coat. He shrugged it off hastily, before draping it in front of his hips in what was hopefully a casual move.

Mohinder continued on unaware of his affect on Peter, who was watching him, thinking desperately 'If he licks his lips one more time, I won't be responsible for my actions!'

Shit, and all this time he thought he was straight. Simone was going to be so disappointed.

The rush of excitement tinted Mohinder's cheeks turning them into the sinful color of reddish-mocha- as if tempting Peter to un-wrap Mohinder and find what made the other man melt into his own puddle of goo.

"Perhaps he'll paint a picture while we're there? If he can indeed paint the future he might already know we're coming." Yup, Mohinder was ecstatic.

A stray thought- one that had nothing to do with just how damn smoking hot Mohinder was, so it had to be a stray- entered his mind. Mendez was…kind of a druggie.

Fuck.

"I've only met him once, but maybe I should do the talking to start." The doctor sent him an almost pout. "He's, uh, kind of a heroin addict."

Anger and disbelief warred on his handsome face for a moment before Mohinder opened his mouth to deliver what was bound to be one hot scolding when everything froze as if God had hit the Great Big Pause button and ambled off to get more popcorn and Junior Mints.

Peter took a deep breath, gently reaching out to touch Mohinder's cheek and nearly moaned. It was soft in places that weren't stubbled and warm all over. Fingers traced the curve of a jaw, the delicate cheekbone and the straight line of a nose before resting, like the flap of a butterfly's wing, on those full lips.

The sound of a throat being cleared had Peter swallowing a scream and jumping away hastily.

A short and somehow…..dangerous looking Japanese man walked calmly though the frozen people, a slight smirk on his face.

"It figures I would stop time to give you an important mission and the first thing you do is indecently fondle Suresh."

Peter fought not to blush. "I wasn't- I- do I know you?"

The mysterious stranger kept his smirk. "Not yet, but you will. I have come from the future, to help you find your destiny."

Peter gapped. "My destiny? The future? What?!"

The man shook his head. "Now is not the time. You must stop the bomb. You must stop my future."

Peter huffed. "How do you expect me to….to stop a bomb, never mind a whole other….future?"

The strange time-traveler simply stared at him. "This is what you've been waiting for. You're chance to save the world. Don't blow it."

As he began to walk off, panic set in. "How?!" He demanded harshly. "How do I save the world?"

The man didn't stop. "Save the Cheerleader, Save the World."

Like _that_ was any help to Peter. The Asian man did pause, briefly, to turn back and smirk again.

"Time will stay frozen for a few more minutes after I depart. Perhaps you should take advantage of it."

Peter wasn't all that ashamed to admit that the first thing that popped in his head was to 'fondle Suresh' some more. The man was too pretty for his own damn good- and that said a lot coming from another rather pretty man himself.

Maybe his mysterious messenger was jealous. That could have explained why time suddenly unfroze the moment Peter pressed his lips to Mohinder's.

The doctor made a surprised noise but didn't pull away as they bumped along the track, swaying together. Peter took that as a good omen to deepen the kiss.

After all, in for a penny, in for a dime.

Or was it a dollar? Ether way, the pale man doubted Mohinder would like to have sex on the floor of a subway cart surrounded by strangers.

He wrapped his arms around Mohinder's waist to steady them, and pull the man closer as another set of arms wrapped around his shoulders. A hand was buried into his long hair before the need to breathe even surfaced.

Peter pulled back just enough to see Mohinder's dazzled expression without going cross-eyed. Warm air mingled between them as Peter spoke.

"I've wanted to do that ever since you opened your apartment door."

Mohinder grinned. "I've been waiting for you to do that ever since I opened my apartment door." The doctor blinked at their close proximity. "My god, I think I've even lost time with that kiss."

Peter snorted in amusement. "That wasn't me that was the man who stopped time just a few minutes ago."

Mohinder jerked back a bit. "The _what_?"

"Yeah." Peter agreed, hardly believing it himself. "Told me to Save the Cheerleader, Save the World."

The look of disbelief on the doctor's face broke the moment a bit, but Peter could wait. After all, if he had the ability to copy other people's powers, he could stop time, and he _was_ a Petrelli.

He would have no problem testing out this ability on Mohinder, with hopefully the same result.

The doctor was too befuddled to question the handsome smirk that stuck on Peter's face al the way to Isaac Mendez apartment.


	4. Too Many

Title: Too Many  
Author: stangerine88  
'Verse: Heroes  
Characters: Niki Sanders  
Rating: PG  
Warnings: Season One Spoilers  
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, it belongs to NBC and Tim Kring.

Summary: Niki reflects on her many selves…..

Table/Prompt: Mental Illness Table/ Multiple (Dissociative) Personality Disorder

Too Many

When the thug sent by the Company suddenly turns up in pieces in her flower garden, Niki knows Jessica has broken down the locked doors in her mind again.

When she finds strange names and numbers in her coat pockets and the men-married or not- shy away from her gaze at PTA Meetings, Niki knows Jenna has slipped in with all the finesse of a dancer.

There are times, when she walks a certain way or says a certain phrase, and Micah will pause and ask timidly "Niki?" as if she'll say no- because she obviously has said no before.

People talk about looking in the mirror and seeing a stranger- someone wearing your face, claiming your identity, but you _know_ that's not you. Niki wondered what those people would say to the idea of looking in the mirror and seeing that stranger wink at you. Talk to you. _Become you._

It's the last that scares her the most and she knows it's crazy but the fear is real. The horrible, actual threat that one day Niki will loose herself to her selves as Jessica and Jenna and whoever else is lurking around up in her head slowly chip away at everything she is.

It's almost as if the gaps they cause in her mind, like a sieve, slowly drain her away until Niki knows what's left is a jumbled incomplete mess. Never a whole person but the broken, jagged pieces of many- like she's this ugly, deformed Frankenstein of a mental case; pretty on the outside but if you just look a bit closer you'll see how scarred and evil she really is. Stitches and seams _everywhere_ until that's all there is.

Everyday, Niki knows it's worse when she blinks to find the mirror a cracked mess; when she's kicking another stranger out of her bed. It's like watching her own descension - which each blow a step back to the person she was before disappears.

And in the end, all she can do is wait.


	5. Panic Attack

Title: Panic Plagued

Author: stangeirne88

'Verse: Heroes

Character: Peter

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Season One Spoilers, the f-bomb

Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to NBC and Tim, Kring, not me.

Summary: Peter had dreams of being more than a simple hospice nurse once...

Table/Prompt: Mental Illness Table/ Panic Attack

Panic Plagued

A/N: I did a bit of research on this and for some reason Peter and the idea of his empathy picking up on his patient's panic came to mind. I think it would be depilating, especially since we know that the control Peter has over his abilities is shaky at best.

His therapist had called them panic attacks.

Peter stared at one of the many pamphlets in his hand, not quite seeing past the strict black and white lettering. They thought he was sick.

Peter _knew_ he was _different._

When his therapist- Dr. Collins but _please_ call me _Shelley_- had started talking about triggers and 'flight or fight' responses, he had tuned her out. He knew this already- he was a medical student. He wanted to become a doctor.

Peter would _never_ be a doctor.

Shelley believed that the sight of blood was the trigger, the bright red substance was what made him shake and gasp and sway on his feet.

Peter knew it was the patients and he knew that it wasn't his own panic he felt, but _theirs_. Shelley had no explanation why unconscious patients covered in blood and gore and broken bones had no effect on him, but one frightened, panicking patient could send the aspiring doctor into fits that left him sure _nothing _was real.

Shelley had no explanation why mothers who'd momentarily misplaced their children had the same affect on Peter.

_Shelley_ had _no_ fucking _explanation_ for _anything._

She promised to help him figure out the problem with more therapy, more sessions, but believed it would be 'best' for Peter to check himself out of such high-stress environments and to remove himself from his trigger situation until the problem could be resolved.

His supervising doctor had already restricted his ER shifts as well as any work above taking temperatures and pumping blood pressure cuffs.

At this point, any hopes Peter had of ever becoming anything above a family clinic nurse were all but nil.

Nathan had been furious- with Peter, for being different again or with the school for sending his brother for therapy, no one could be sure. Their mother had released her brand of cold fury on _Shelley_ and the school's decision.

His father had been suspiciously quiet about the whole affair but Peter could _feel_ the fear and disappointment rolling out from his study like the dark waves from a polluted lake. It wasn't right- Peter knew above anyone, even Nathan, he could talk to his Dad when things got rough.

But that was before whispers of Linderman and elections and business deals ghosted up and down the halls of the Petrelli home. When Peter had been a kid, his father would sit and listen to him chatter for hours about becoming a doctor and helping change the world and being someone special.

Now muttering the word 'special' was like using a four letter word in front of Simon or Monty and Peter couldn't help but feel that these, these panic attacks had taken away more than just his dream of becoming a doctor.

The wind blew his bangs up from his eyes and ruffled the papers in his hands. He still had other careers, other roads in the medical field, to explore; physical therapist, family doctor, specialist in a non-trauma field, even psychology. Nothing lit that spark in Peter like the word doctor had. He wanted to help the needy and comfort the hurt and have that instant connection to someone who needed him.

One of the many pamphlets caught his eye, the glossy cover a picture of a man that frighteningly resembled his father splayed across the front. Hospice Nurse. Bring Comfort to the Terminally Ill……

Connect to the dying? Was that what he wanted? Peter wasn't that far in denial to be completely blind to the fact that he was sensitive to people. He felt them, their core being and their soul and knowing that someone he cared about was going to leave him anyway…….just the thought made his chest ache in that mysterious area just above his heart.

Still….. to know he'd made a difference in that person's life, just a little bit, felt worth it. That Peter could help someone, even when he couldn't help himself- the idea had appeal.

But Peter would always mourn for the still-born dream of doctor-hood and the future that would never be.


	6. System Shutdown

Title: System Shutdown

Author: stangerine88

'Verse: Heroes

Characters: Micah Sanders, Monica Dawson

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Spoilers for Season One and Two, mentioned character death, implied suicidal thoughts

Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to NBC and Tim Kring.

Summary: He'd known, when the beeps and whirls of the machines around him had started to sound less and less like a conversation and more like noise that he'd be seeing his parents again soon.

Table/Prompt: Mental Illness Table/ Depression

System Shutdown

Orphan.

Micah Sanders isn't stupid, he knows what the word means better than most adults. Forgetting the legal and social cling-ons of the word, boiled down it means single. Solitary. Alone. Unwanted. Micah could list synonyms all day.

New Orleans was hot this time of year, the people nervous about the return of Hurricane season and phantom remnants of disaster. Micah could care less what came as long as it stopped this horrible heavy feeling of being alone.

The only one left.

His grandmother had taken him to the doctor time and time again, worried sick over her poor, orphaned grandson. The one who didn't eat properly, didn't play with the other children anymore, always had a headache.

She refused to see that he was broken.

Worthless.

Monica walked by his doorway- he'd yet to get out of bed, although it was well past non- humming and getting ready for her next shift at the restaurant. Micah said nothing as her cheerful song halted and she stepped back, eying him nervously.

"How're ya feeling today, Micah? Headache gone? Are ya hungry?"

Unkempt, greasy curls barely shook with the turn of his head. He didn't talk to her; he didn't want to talk to her. For all their similarities, Monica wasn't like him.

She wouldn't understand.

The bright colors of her uniform poked at him, irritating his eyes and mind like a hibernating bear slowly waking to find a bunch of idiot kids stabbing at it with a stick.

"You haven't been on your computer very much lately. Or messing around with the TV. Grandma's gone out for some milk and Damon's at school. You could go mess with them for a bit- I won't tell."

"No."

Monica tried not to wince at her little cousin's voice. She'd heard answering machines with happier voices. Even those creepy computerize helpers with the phone companies were better at conversation than Micah these days.

It was plain as the nose on her face what was wrong with him, no matter what those quack doctors had to say or what kind of drugs they put him on. Micah was depressed and unless someone somewhere could bring back his parents, nothing short of a miracle was saving that boy.

"Are you sure you don't wanna go and tinker around with the television again?" Monica asked timidly, wring her hands in her apron. Micah simply stared out the window listlessly.

"No."

A lip was bitten in nervousness. "Are you sure?"

"I said no!"

Monica isn't sure if she's hurt by his harsh tone or relieved that the vacant, apathetic expression has been wiped off Micah's face by his anger. It wasn't anything new and always short lived as the fury dropped from the technopath's face and morphed into complete and utter sadness. "_I can't_."

She had no idea what that meant- her college hopes had been tourism and hospitality not psychology- but Micah had already turned away from her and Monica still had a job to get to.

He waited until he was sure she had left- the door closing was like a bomb going off in the quiet, dead house- before stretching out to touch the remote control at his side. There was no warmth, no beeps or pulses or the familiar tingle of electricity. The small, ancient television sitting on his battered dresser didn't even flicker as Micah called out to it and he knew.

He'd known, when the beeps and whirls of the machines around him had started to sound less and less like a conversation and more like noise that he'd be seeing his parents again soon.

And Micah couldn't seem to care.

A/N: This reading that most children suffering from depression have attempted suicide or at least had suicidal thoughts by age 12. Scary stuff.


End file.
